Duet
by Zara Allegra Vespertine
Summary: India Stoker has a problem. It's called the Uncle Charlie problem. She knew there is something wrong with his sudden appearance right after her father's death. But she could not deny the attraction she felt for him. As they contested out their wills in front of the piano, who will come out triumphant in the end? A re-imagining of the Duet scene. Warning: OOC, incest themes & lime


**A/N: I've been badly influenced by the brilliantly poignant film, Stoker. So I scoured for any available Stoker fics out there. But to my disappointment, I could not find any. **

**So.. I created this one-shot just to satisfy my craving for fics influenced by Stoker.**

**This is a re-imagining of the **_**Duet **_**scene, where India played the piano, as she dueled with her mind over the Uncle Charlie matter. It's the most provocative, erotic scene I have ever watched so far. Damn piano. **

**Oct. 13, 2013 updates: This one-shot entry has been edited to make it acceptable to admin regulations. To view the complete and unedited version, please visit the author's profile page for more info.**

**oOoOoOo**

It's stifling hot inside the room, the swimming pool outside her house beckons her to strip down and take a dip. She wonders briefly whether she should just remove her clothes off and swim in the nude. After all, who else will see her except for the servants, her mother and… her Uncle Charlie.

Her stomach clench in response at the thought of Uncle Charlie's piercing blue eyes roaming down her naked body. She is accustomed to her father's warm, chocolate brown eyes, and have always thought that brown eye color is a safe choice when she finally chooses her husband.

But blue eyes made her think twice about her firm decision.

She lifted her freshly sharpened pencil, scribbles some subtle changes in the piano compositions. And then she tossed the wooden pencil away before she focused her attention on the baby grand in front of her.

Slender fingertips lightly skimmed across the finely tuned ivory keys, and then she put more pressure on her fingers, eliciting the corrected sounds from the piano.

She leaned back slightly from the piano bench, her mood melancholy. What to do about the Uncle Charlie problem? And as her eyes flickered, her nose was filled with the smell of her Uncle's perfume: Lemon and bergamot; crushed lavender and verbena; the hint of sandalwood from her father's chest where he kept their hunting rifles, and oak moss she often smells after a particularly heavy rain.

She sat up straighter, the pupils of her eyes dilating, and she bit her lower lip, aware of the liquid heat forming in her womb.

"India…" he whispered, the minty smell of his breath pushing the tendrils of her hair covering her left ear.

Without meaning to, without intention of lowering down her guard, she leaned back and felt the heat emanating from his body. And the speed of her fingertips quickened, as it flew across the aligned keys. Her heartbeat picked up the pace of her tempo.

Ahhh. There is no mistaking the wetness between her thighs, and she found her legs crossing in an attempt to restrain the gushing arousal she felt. Her panties would be wet in no time, and what of her mother finds out about the feminine stain she might leave behind from the bench? But it is a tiny matter to her. His commanding presence drew her attention.

It lighted up her very pores, turned her blood into liquid fire. The goose bumps erupted on her upper arms.

"You are mine, sweetheart." Uncle Charlie said, "I made you who you are. And you will always belong to me." The deep rumbling in his voice matched the dark tones of the piano keys. He had told her mother he couldn't play the piano, and yet, here he is, flawlessly executing the music as he timed it with her strokes.

Their fingers lightly touched. Her skin attuned to the fine hairs of his hand...

Glancing up at him, watching his handsome face, with that hint of wicked smile bordering the corners of his mouth. India opened her mouth slightly, and he responded with the darkening of his eyes and the fluttering of his eyelashes.

He nudged closer, and she moved to make room for him, her saddle shoe-clad foot leaving the pedals of the piano as her Uncle took over playing the piece.

He is testing her strength and her will. His expression becoming serious as they slowly added tension to the music they are playing. Steeling her determination, she plowed on, jumping back into the music with renewed vigor. His mouth pulled into a slow, satisfied smile. He leaned forward towards her, entwining one of his arms around her waist to reach the other end of the piano. The steel bands of his lean arm is heavy as it rested on her waist.

She gave a soft gasp, and she bit the inside of her mouth, inner thighs squirming against the ecstasy she is feeling. He could heel his cheek resting at the back of her head, and she knew he could smell the green apple shampoo she always uses to clean her mousy dark hair.

"You wanted to grasp it tight. Hold the climax for as long as possible."He breathed sensually.

The arousal is too much for her to bear, and she felt herself yielding to the shivering sensations coursing through her body.

"Hmmm? Your patience is astonishing, little one." Her Uncle Charlie gave a low growl of approval; "You made me so hard that I don't need to touch myself to explode."

At his last words, India lifted her knees up slightly, squeezing her thighs together, and she moaned, finally releasing all the pent-up frustrations against the piano bench.

Fine pinpricks of light dotted the back of her eyelids, when she closed her eyes, and her Uncle held her tightly as she shuddered her release. Her panties became wet with her honey, its powerfully intoxicating smell permeating the room they were in. The room's heat enhanced the seductive smell of her sex further. If her mother walked in on them, she would, without a doubt, recognize the smell.

"Well done, India."

She took in a lungful of air, as if she were a newborn baby taking her first breath. Her body sagged against him, and her head went limp. He supported her against his shoulders, while the music from the piano died abruptly.

"Let me have a taste, sweetheart." He said against her hair, his cruel, sensual mouth nuzzling the soft skin of her jaw. The hand resting on her hip need no further encouragement, and he deftly lifted her pleated skirt.

She let out a mewling sound when he withdrew from her sex. Raising his hand in front of her eyes, he rubbed his thumb gently against the very tips of his fingers,

India watched, fascinated, as she watched Uncle Charlie slowly lick his fingers one by one, before finally finishing off with a soft smack of his lips.

"_Ravissante." _He murmured in French. He caught the look in her eye and he smiled before looking down at himself. India followed her Uncle's eyes and found the top middle of his trousers was wet with his seed.

"Pardon me, while I change clothes before I prepare for dinner." Uncle Charlie stood up, paused to cup her face with his large, slender hand before leaving her on the piano bench.

India trailed her Uncle with her eyes, watching him with half-lidded eyes as he went out of the room. She closed the piano keys with a sharp _snap _of its top cover before she stood up, her knees slightly weak from her first climax. Using the piano to support her weight, she lifted her skirt, quickly pulling down her damp panties, until it slid to the polished floor. Picking up the stained cotton, she studied it briefly before putting it in the pockets of her skirt.

She walked towards the closed French window of her home, unlatched the lock and pushed the panel open. A light breeze went in the room, billowing her skirts against her thighs, and she felt the wind rush through her naked sex underneath. For what seemed like an eternity, she stood there, lost in thought. Suddenly, she gave a half-smile as it dawned on her. A potential solution to her Uncle Charlie problem. She had found his only weakness: it is _her_. Only she has the power to bend his will. Charlie had obsessed about her even before she was born. Every breath he took is about living for her. Now, if she can only pry him a bit more, she can plan on her next move.

India Stoker glanced down at her worn out saddle shoes, before turning on her heel, the faint footsteps made by the soles echoing faintly throughout the silent house.

**oOoOoOo**

**A/N: I want more of these kinds of movie. :p I hope you enjoyed the short entry.**

**Reviews=love**


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